Take This Job and Hex It
by GrammarDemon
Summary: Dean and Sam are pretty sure a witch is behind a series of seemingly accidental, bizarre deaths at a large company. So Dean goes undercover as a temp in the file room and learns-the reason for the next death might be him.


_Author's Note: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. No, wait. Only some of them are fictitious, and doesn't that suck? At any rate, any resemblance to real persons, especially the living, is completely on purpose. Because I know them and they won't be reading this. So screw 'em. (Just saying.)_

_Disclaimer: Yeah, Supernatural is not mine. Damn it. Incidentally this takes place sometime before Lisa and Ben._

* * *

"Not bad, huh, Sammy?" Dean Winchester called out, took one last look at his reflection, and straightened his tie. Day One—maybe Day Last—working as a pretend temp for Wessex and Wessex, a company with a curse. He didn't think he'd need to play Office Boy for long. At least, he hoped not. Because if that were the case, he'd need more geek clothes.

He touched his gelled hair with his palm, taming a few errant hairs. Life in the conformity lane. And he looked good. He wondered if he'd get laid. There were bound to be some cute little secretaries he could give _dick-tation_.

Dean laughed at his own private quip and left the bathroom. Predictably, his brother Sam sat at the rickety table in their motel kitchenette, staring at his laptop. He looked up as Dean emerged.

"Dick-tation, right?" Sam gave him a "you're such a douchebag" smirk and went back to his computer, shaking his head. His hair flopped into his eyes.

"What? You're a mind reader, now?" Dean frowned.

"No. You just make that joke every time we have a job like this. I could tell by the way you were laughing to yourself."

"Oh. Well. Yeah, of course I laughed. It's funny." He sat on the bed and tried not to scowl.

Sam pursed his entire face into a prudish expression and shook his head. "Okay. In the past six months, there have been a series of bizarre deaths, at Wessex and Wessex. They appear accidental, and they include one beheading."

Dean scoffed. "In an office? What, did somebody get too friendly with the paper cutter?"

His brother nodded and looked at his watch. "The coroner's report will tell me. Let's go. You don't want to be late on your first day. Want to make a good impression…office boy." He stood up, and shrugged into his black suit jacket, looking almost perfect as an FBI agent. Except for his shaggy hair.

Dean thought once more about going after Sam with the clippers some night while he slept. But he didn't want to tip his hand by complaining about his brother's hair. "When did you get to be such a tool?" he said instead, and followed him from their room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

_Pretty young administrative ass-es. Bring 'em._ Dean sat in a chair in the foyer of Wessex and Wessex, watching the women entering the building and pushing their way through the turnstiles. And they, in turned, scoped him out. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. _Nice. Not bad. Oooh, ve-ry nice._ He was _definitely_ going to get laid.

But first, he needed to get in.

"Mr. Dinglybits? Excuse me. Mr. Dinglybits." The security guard repeated, and Dean bit back a bark of laughter. He looked around the foyer, wondering which of the temporary saps sitting there had been saddled with such an unfortunately name.

_Oh crap._ He was the only temporary sap who could _be_ a Mister. _No effin' way._ He winced and looked over at the rent a cop. "You talking to me?"

The security guard nodded. "Here's your ID back, and your temporary badge. You won't have access to the rooms until you get your permanent badge, so you'll need to be with another employee at all times until then. You'll have to wear this sticker for now." He pulled the back off a nametag and slapped it on Dean's chest. "Welcome to Wessex and Wessex, Ass hat."

"Whoa, pal. Excuse me?" Dean stopped himself from leaping over the counter as the security guard took a step back.

"I'm sorry. Did I mispronounce your name?" The elderly man gestured to the tag on Dean's chest.

_Aszhat Dinglybits._ Dean read, upside down. _Son of a bitch._ He looked down at the fake license he'd gotten back from the guard. Yes. That's what it said. "My name is Ass hat?" He looked up at the old man, who nodded at him. _Well, doesn't that just fuck all._

Sam had shoved the license at him just as he was leaving the Impala. No wonder he'd been wearing such a huge smirk as he drove off. I'm going to kill him, Dean thought. _After I scalp him._ _The bastard._

"I'm here, Jimmy." A tall, thin, bald, _neat _man appeared on the other side of the turnstile. "Is this our temp?" He looked Dean up and down, then smiled. "Oh yes. You'll do." He flashed his badge and gestured. "Come on through! Don't be shy."

I hate it here, Dean thought. He pushed through the turnstile. _It's only temporary. I just have to figure out what's ganking the employees and then I'm done._

"Hell-o." The man held out his hand. "I'm Felix. And you are?" He peered at Dean's nametag. The cheerful twinkle left his eyes. "Oh. Is that a mistake? Your name is…?"

"Ahz. Just call me Ahz. Like Ozzie. Osborne." Dean scowled, daring Felix to make any other comments.

"Well. All righty then. Follow me." He turned and hurried off. "You're going to be working in the file room with Tiffany."

_Tiffany._ That had a nice blonde ring to it. Dean cheered up. Maybe the day wasn't going to be so bad after all…


End file.
